The New North
by yobeboleche
Summary: A year after the end of season 8, Sansa realises there are more plans she must set into action before the North is truly hers. She finds herself in the same situation as her 14 year old self: facing an arranged marriage for the good of her kingdom - and funnily enough, it's to the same man. (first thing i've published ahaha hope u like it :)
1. Chapter 1

Winterfell's great hall was erupting with laughter as a great feast was devoured. The tables were laden heavily with juicy meats and fresh bread, with cheese and vegetables to go with it. Strong wine was being downed by the barrel, spilling over the sides of goblets and making the rowdy northerners all the more boisterous.

They hadn't eaten this well at Winterfell since the great battle, almost a year ago. Sansa thought back to that night – Jamie Lannister, Lord Varys, Daenerys – to think they're all dead now, alongside millions of others. The Queen in the North's advisors had taken a habit of telling her that the worst was over, the first year had been the hardest and things would continue to improve for their kingdom. Some days, Sansa wholly believed that. Other days, it seemed it could never be true.

Despite those doubtful days, Sansa was proud to be the leader of what she knew was the greatest kingdom in Westeros, even though the North could never be the same as it was, not after all it had seen, not after everything that had happened.

In the first weeks of her rule, there hadn't been food, drink or warmth enough to go around – many of the working men had been killed in the war, leaving the crops untended and the rooves unthatched. Sansa had offered shelter to as many as she could in the castle – mostly children and the elderly, but she had known they were going to need a more permanent solution.

About a month after her coronation, His Grace King Bran of the Six Kingdoms had offered aid to his sister and fellow monarch, in form of men to build and sow, food, and resources to repair what was needed. Sansa had been more than grateful, and things had improved, they had stayed that way, even, but there was an inevitable unrest lingering in the northern air.

"Your Grace? Are ye quite well?" A voice interrupted Sansa's deep thoughts, bringing her back to the room.

"Hmm? Oh, Yes, Ser Darrick, just thinking."

The retired knight sighed. "Worryin', I presume, your Grace?" He came from a small, unknown house, but all of her advisors came from small, unknown houses – all the great ones had been all but destroyed.

She laughed softly. "What else these days? It seems I'll never be free of worry for as long as I live."

Sansa waited briefly for a response, but looked up to see everyone at the table exchanging nervous glances and attempting to nod subtly to each other. She had recently taken to being rather straight with people, so she immediately questioned them on it. "Gentlemen forgive me but is something the matter? Something I should know about?"

"Uh, No. Well, yes." One man stammered. "If we could talk to ye in private, your grace?"

She nodded suspiciously but stood up from the head table and led the four main talkers away to her study. Once she was seated at her desk in front of them, the stammering man, Ser Willem, started to speak. "Your Grace, I'm afraid this is a difficult matter to discuss, but we've been intending this conversation for quite some time, so we just feel – that is to say…"

"Now's as good a time as any?" Ser Darrick interrupted, glaring at Willem.

"Alright then. What is so pressing it must be discussed at this very moment?"

"Well, ye ken, it is very hard to get you at a free time, your grace, and the feast isn't as urgent a matter as other things, so we decided to..."

"Just say it." Sansa was becoming impatient.

A third man, Lord Harrys Candon, spoke up, clearly the most mature of the group. "Your Grace, the reality is, the North is fine. The King is supplying more resources than we need and reconstruction in the castle is near complete. There hasn't been a starving man from the twins to the wall in 2 months and the harvest is sure to be fruitful this season. We will survive, and comfortably at that. Now, there is a more political matter we must deal with."

Lord Harrys had captivated Sansa's attention. "And what's that?"

The fifth party in the room, Lady Catelyn Candon, daughter to Lord Harrys and named for Sansa's mother, had been designated to relay this more difficult matter. "Securing the North, your grace."

It took Sansa barely a few seconds before it came to her. She had heard that phrase before - 'Securing the North' and 'Key to the North'. She knew what it meant, and sighed loudly as she realized. "Heirs. That's what we need. That is what you speak of, is it not?" She stared in all of their eyes.

"Yes, Your Grace." Lord Harrys nodded. "Without them your reign is not at full strength. To end it, your enemies need only kill one person. To secure a Stark rule in the north for centuries to come, there must be a Stark to replace the hole you will leave. Your brothers possess rules and vows of their own, neither of them will father children, and your sister is unlikely to ever return to Westeros. The only way to continue your bloodline is by you yourself, and to do that..."

"I must marry." She finished, saying the words dully. Needless to say, her experience with the institution of marriage was misrepresenting at a push. Her first marriage was awkward, forced, and over as soon as it started. Her second was…. well, her brain had all but erased those memories, buried them underneath a million other things.

Sansa now realized she hadn't even thought of the fact that she would eventually have to remarry and bear children – she supposed deep down she had thought she would never marry again. But that was before she was Queen, before she was the only realistic possibility of continuing the Stark name she loved so much. And if that was to happen, Sansa would have to put aside her own premonitions for the good of her family.

She took a deep breath. "My Lords, My Lady, I admit I hadn't considered the prospect and cannot say I am doing this in full willingness, but I know you're all right and I know I must do this." She stood up, wanting to put off the logistical discussion for one more night. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to the feast. We can discuss possibilities tomorrow." Sansa walked quickly from the room, tears of fear welling in her eyes.

It seemed they would have a King in the North.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, after a long and sleepless night, Sansa assembled her advisors for a meeting to discuss what had been brought up last night in a very brief discussion.

"Thank you all for being here. It has come to my attention that between you, you have discussed my need to marry and subsequently produce heirs for the north, so I must ask, how long has this been in debate?"

Ser Darrick, the nervous man from last night, spoke up. "Not a week between us, Your Grace, though I canna deny we hav'na thought of it in our own minds."

"And how soon do you intend to take action on this plan?"

Another man stepped forward. "Your Grace, there is no tangible urgency on the matter, but I think we can all agree, the sooner, the better."

She nodded slowly, considering their advice. "And have you looked at any possible options for who I might marry? Because last I knew, everyone suitable is either dead or exiled."

"Robin Arryn!" Someone shouted, annoying Sansa exceedingly.

"My cousin is not competent to rule the north, nor any kingdom." She said blatantly. "Not to mention his pre-empt anxiety and tendency to impulsive decisions."

Ser Darrick spoke again. "Not Lord Arryn, then. Samwell Tarly of Hornhill?"

She laughed this time. "Do you intend to humour me, Ser? Sam is all but married with 2 children, Jon's best friend and in service to my brother as grand maester! He is not a possibility."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I wasn't thinking. The Prince of Dorne, perhaps?" That suggestion seemed to peeve the entire room.

"A dornishman as King in the north?!" People shouted. "You may as well find her a husband from across the narrow sea!"

After that, it seemed people threw around all manner of illogical and inappropriate suggestions.

"Ser Podrick Payne!" was rebutted with "Too soft." "Ser Bronn of highgarden!" Was met with "Too old."

After what seemed hours of bickering, Sansa lost patience. "Enough!" She yelled, silencing the congregation. "Can not a single one of you suggest a legitimately suitable and _alive _candidate for a husband?" She looked to each one of them, but it seemed they were all but tongue-tied.

From the corner of the room, there came a soft chuckle. Ser Harrys, who had sidelined himself for this whole meeting, stepped forward, looking rather impressed with himself. "It seems, My Lords, you have forgotten yourselves. There is an obvious candidate with whom you are already, _acquainted, _I suppose, Your Grace." He mused.

"Who on earth are you talking about?" Sansa turned in her chair.

He smiled. "Hand to his Grace King Brandon, Lord Tyrion Lannister."

Sansa's heart dropped.

**a/n - sorry this is short,, just wanted to set up the story a bit more! (also the reason why some words here were shortened to scottish/gaelic slang is because I guessed that is how they speak in the northern areas)**


	3. Chapter 3

The Queen in the North had given no answer in response to Lord Harrys' suggestion, probably because it was entirely reasonable. Tyrion was the last known Lannister, and though she had never really discussed with him, Sansa didn't doubt he wanted to continue his family line.

After Lord Harrys had made his suggestion, a buzz of whispers and gasps erupted around the room, followed by enthusiastic chatter. In the absence of any real attention being paid to her, Sansa had quietly slipped out of the room and started back towards her chambers, praying to all the gods no one would follow her. She needed to process this.

As soon as she had shut the door behind her, she shrunk back against it. _Tyrion_, she thought. _How can I marry Tyrion? How can I marry a man I've already married? _

She didn't know how long she sat there, stressing, overthinking, but Sansa must have fallen asleep at some point, because she was suddenly awoken by a whisper on the other side of the wood.

"Your Grace?" It was the sweet, quiet voice of Lady Catelyn Candon, the girl who had become a friend and sister to Sansa in Arya's absence, and was probably the only person she could bring herself to talk to right now.

Sansa crawled up from the floor and opened the door for Catelyn, who immediately pulled her into a warm hug. "Let's talk." She said, gesturing to the two chairs by the fire.

As they sat, the words couldn't have come spilling out of Sansa's mouth any faster. "I don't know what to do, Cat. How can I marry Tyrion? I've already married him! Gods only know your father will be sending a raven with the contracts by now, and I've not even thought of how Tyrion himself must feel…"

Catelyn gave Sansa a knowing, sympathetic look. "Your Grace", she stopped herself, resolving to drop the formalities, to be frank, even if she was addressing her Queen. "Sansa, it's hard to believe, I know, but I've been in your present situation once before."

Sansa briefly forgot her worries and snapped into sudden surprise. "What can you mean? You're not married!"

Lady Catelyn sighed. "I was engaged. Before the war. I never told you, I never told anyone, because I didn't want people to pity me for how things – turned out."

Sansa had seen this all too many times before. "Because he was killed." She said softly, looking into the slowly dimming embers of the fire. "Which battle?"

"Wounded at Winterfell, perished at Kings Landing." She informed. "I never found out how he died, or got the body back, though I doubt it would have been recognisable after…"

Sansa shut her eyes. _After my brother's lover and her dragon burnt the city with half a million people inside. _She knew there would have to come a day when she stopped blaming herself for what Daenerys did. It was true, she had always been suspicious of her, but never did Sansa think The Dragon Queen had it in her to become the exact thing she had always worked so hard to defeat.

"Anyway…" Cat's voice broke Sansa's train of thought, and probably for the better, because any more than a minute of thinking about that subject and she would undoubtedly break down into tears. "A few months before all the fighting, my father set up the match. His name was Patrik, and he grew up very close to me. The last time I had seen him before our engagement was formalized was on his fourteenth name day, about five years earlier. We had fought, a lot, but we had always fought, and coming back together as adults and attempting to be civil was just…well it was pretty bad, so imagining married life together was a lot worse."

Sansa was urgent to get any exterior perspective on this. "Go on."

Catelyn was shocked to be the one doing on the talking – for her it was a rare occurrence. "And so I was faced with a choice; to go into the marriage treating him as a person who comes from my past, or as a person before me in the present. As it turned, out my decision there wasn't going to matter, but I feel it's important to mention that I resolved to see him as his was now, not as I remembered him. We got along, for the most part. There was a brief period of time when I actually thought being married to him wouldn't be so bad. But then Lord Snow returned from Dragonstone, with the news. And Pat was gone. I saw him once after the battle of Winterfell, as he was climbing on his horse to ride south and fight again. He told me he'd be back, and then he'd make up to me all the bad things he'd done in our youth. But I never saw him again." She had tears in her eyes now.

Sansa sat back in her chair, taking it all in. "I'm so sorry, Cat." She reached out and squeezed her friends hand. "So what would you suggest I do about Tyrion?" She wiped her eyes, which had found themselves watery. "Because the Lords seem quite fixed already, from the noise I hear coming from downstairs."

Catelyn laughed softly, before taking Sansa's other hand. "Know Tyrion for the person he is now, not the person he was when you were fourteen and he was miserable. I've not met him, but from what I've heard he is a kind and honest man, a rare reputation in this country, as you know."

Sansa sighed but smiled slightly. "I most certainly do." She said. "You know; I think we ought to see more of each other. I could use someone as wise as you around."

They stood, and hugged each other tightly. "Thank you, your grace. I trust we shall see you later, ready to discuss the marriage to Lord Tyrion?" She raised an eyebrow.

The Queen in the North nodded and led her friend to the door. As she closed it and began to light the candles around the room, a sudden sense of déjà vu came upon her.

She saw herself walking through the luscious, bright gardens of kings landing, a certain brown eyed beauty next to her. _Margaery, _she thought. The conversation she had just had reminded her, not to a minor degree, of that conversation with Margaery Tyrell, all those years ago.

_"Has Lord Tyrion mistreated you?" "Has he been kind to you?" _She had asked.

Back there, hostage in Kings Landing with not a soul she could trust, heading blindly into a marriage to a man she had barely spoke with, Sansa had been different. She was not that girl anymore.

Tyrion was coming back into her life, but this time, she was ready. She wouldn't be afraid; she would meet him as an equal, because she knew that's what they were.

To some effect, The Queen in the North had come full circle.

**a/n -longer this time - if you have any suggestions, let me know them PLEASE! x**


	4. Chapter 4

It had only been a week since the idea had come into play, and already steps were being taken to arrange and execute the marriage. No sooner had Sansa come out of her chambers the morning after her and Catelyn's chat did they hound her to agree, practically shoving papers under her nose.

She reluctantly but decidedly said yes, and within an hour all the necessary ravens had been sent out, bearing the news. One for each of the Northern lords, although most of them were already in Winterfell for last weeks' celebratory feast. Another raven was sent to the wall for Jon, more of a courtesy than an essential person to tell, and another was sent west, for Arya. Sansa didn't know where in seven hells they sent it, her sister could be anywhere, but they assured her it would fall into the hands of the explorer herself.

Other ravens were sent to all the relevant lords of the Six kingdoms, who would undoubtedly be quietly put out with the idea of not being able to sell off their marriageable sons. Then, a more formal letter was written, under Queen Sansa's supervision, to King Bran the Broken himself and all of his advisors. Attached to that, Sansa had sent her brother a short, personal message that read:

_Bran, _

_I don't know how you'll feel about me wedding Tyrion, again, but know this; he's a good man, even I can see that know. Please allow him to come north, or help me to come to an agreement with him. _

_You've done so much good, little brother, helping your people. Now, I implore you, help your home. _

_I know I can rely upon you, _

_Sansa_

Despite how much he had changed, she did still rely upon and trust him and love him. King or not, her brother would support her.

Now that the countless formalities and notice of engagement had been sent out, there was still one person to write.

The Northern lords had assumed they would write him on behalf of their Queen, but she had instructed them to leave this task to her.

So she sat, at her desk with a quill in hand, completely lost on where to start. What do you say, to your former-husband-turned-stranger-acquaintance-now-potential-fiancé?

_Well, _she thought. _Honesty is probably a good place to start. _So she wrote.

_Tyrion, _

_I assume you've heard already of the reason I am writing to you, and if not, this letter will come as quite the surprise. _

_When I met you, Tyrion,I was innocent and young. So very young. As I came to know you, I also came to know pain, and hurt, and grief. I saw my father, mother, and brother dead, with no right to mourn or remember them. I lost my home, my sister, and all my hope. When I think back now, there was only ever one person who thought to look at me, and not as a traitor, an outsider, a piece of meat. _

_You saw my suffering for what it was. And in return, some light was shed on yours. Your family never appreciated you. They should have. I remember telling Jon when I first saw him again – 'Tyrion's not like the other Lannisters.' And it's true. You're not. You were kind to me, even before you had to be._

_When you came into my room that afternoon, told me we were to be married, I thought it was the worst possible thing to happen. Whilst I know you didn't break down into tears, you probably weren't too pleased with the idea yourself, especially since your father arranged it. Back then, you saw a terrified, lonely fourteen-year-old girl, and I saw nothing but the stigma around you. _

_After that day in the sept, and the night that followed, I felt slightly safer. At least I knew you wouldn't hurt me the way Joffrey had. You became a friend even, but then mother and Robb were killed. And I shut you out when you tried to help. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for running away after Joffrey's wedding, I'm sorry you had to flee the country, I'm sorry you had to kill your father and find your siblings' bodies. _

_But I also thank you. I thank you for guiding Daenerys to see reason, even if it didn't work in the end. I thank you for putting my brother forth as King and for guiding him this past year, I thank you for pulling me out of harm's way in the crypt that awful night, for pushing me to survive and listening when I told you about Jon. But most importantly I thank you for saving me. If it were not for you, I never would have survived those years in Kings' landing. _

_For a period of time, you were the only warmth I ever felt, and seeing you again at Winterfell reminded me of that. I was recently told to know you for who you are now, not as someone my child self was horrified at. _

_And I do. I believe you are a good man, and that is a rare thing to be in this world. _

_Tyrion, please, look favourably upon the proposal. I know we both never thought we'd be in this position, but I could never have imagined the past few years ever happening._

_It may seem that I'm only writing this to convince you, but truly, I mean every word. _

_I didn't think I'd marry again, but, like I've said before, _

_You were the best of them. _

_Sansa_

She signed her name, noticing the page dotted with tears. Hopefully that would dry before she sent it. Sealing the envelope and writing his name on the back, she felt different.

She had told him everything. Everything she never thought he would hear, of what he did for her, probably without even noticing.

The last time she'd seen him was ten months ago.

Things were so bad in the North that the Queen was forced to return to Kings' landing, almost to beg for help, even though her brother and his council would willingly have given it.

She had ridden in, half-starved and sick with the jostling, being carried to her chamber by the guards that met her.

When she got there, the maids carefully fed her bread and wine, the most food she'd eaten in the month's ride and the two weeks before she had left Winterfell.

After that she slept, waking up to a very concerned face leaning over her.

_"My Lord,"_ she had said, attempting to sit up but being gently pushed back down.

He had laughed softly. _"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"_

She went back to sleep quickly after that, smiling as she knew he stayed in the room, watching over her.

The rest of her week long stay in the Capital, she had talked to him often, but mostly about his adventures in Essos and with Daenerys. It hadn't been the right time to tell him everything she'd just written in that letter, but it was now or never.

"Your Grace?" A big, burly, guard stood hunched in her doorway, too tall for the frame.

She dried her tears and stood up, flattening down her skirt. "Yes?"

He extended his hand, showing two scrolls of parchment. "From His Grace the King, Your Grace."

Sansa blinked in surprise. They had only sent those letters two days ago. Bran must be very eager to reply. She took it from him, mumbling a thank you and 'you may go' to the guard.

Sitting by the fire, the Queen in the North read her brothers letters. One was addressed to 'The lords of the North' but she opened it anyway, sighing in disappointment. A simple statement approving of the match and wishing good fortune to the Queen. She rolled her eyes. _So formal. _

The second letter had her name on the front.

_Sansa, _

_Tyrion has been informed of these plans, but I suspect you've written him a letter of your own. _

_Know, dear sister, that I will support my home and you in any way I can. I may be king, and I may not be Brandon Stark anymore, but our family knows I love the North no matter the cost. _

_You will be pleased to know I have sent a royal summons in lieu of your imminent wedding. _

_Jon and Arya are coming home. _

_And Tyrion Lannister is coming North. Prepare for his arrival, sister, for it is sure to be the first day of the rest of your life. _

_Winter is coming. _

_King Bran the Broken, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, King of the Andals and first men, protector of the realm. _

The Queen in the North dropped the letter.

"Seven hells."

**a/n - sorry that i took a few days with this update, but its a longer one and i hope you enjoy! the reunion will be happening next chapter so get excited,,, tell me your ideas if you have them, please review x**


	5. Chapter 5

The carriage and surrounding horses were visible from the turrets of Winterfell, etching closer and closer towards the castle with every moment that passed.

The Queen in the North had not come out of her chambers yet, meaning she would be cutting time rather thin to greet the party from Kings' landing. Sansa had been dressed and ready for an hour, but she still hadn't brought herself to open the door, choosing instead to pace up and down the room, a habit she had recently gotten into.

She stopped in front of the looking-glass, her reflection staring back at her. She looked older today, somehow. She felt older, too. Sansa found herself truly nervous, giddy even, for the first time in a year. Ever since she had become Queen, most of her days were too filled with duty and worry for her to even give a second thought to her appearance.

But today, things were different.

Her handmaidens had put extra effort into her hair, without her even having to ask, something she was impressed with them for. There were a lot of intricate patterns where her hair was combed back at the crown of her head, the rest falling straight down her back.

_Alright. _She thought to herself. _There's nothing to be nervous about. _

So she left her chambers, taking a deep breath before starting down the corridor in somewhat mock composure, as she was extremely anxious for this reunion.

When she arrived in the courtyard, she was pleased to see all of the castle's inhabitants lined up around the outsides, and she could spy more of the farmers and smallholders surrounding the road outside. They all bowed, curtsied, and cleared a path for her as she passed, taking her place at the front.

The sound of hooves in the mud and wheels could be heard by now. They were close. Sansa glanced around the scene. It was almost the same as two memories she had in mind, but simultaneously, it could not be more different.

She saw her family. Her mother and father. Robb, Jon, Bran, Arya, Rickon, Theon. Standing on this same ground, so many years ago, ready to receive southern guests. Such an exciting notion it was to her back then. If only she had known.

Then she saw her family again. Much changed, of course. Her older, distrusting self, Bran next to her. He saw a flash of ivory hair next to the brooding posture of Jon, both approaching on horseback. She saw the changed north, dragons flying above it and eight thousand liberated slaves marching through its gates.

And then she saw the present. Numbers depleted, an uncertain future ahead of them. But hope arising, a hope that was currently coming right through their entranceway.

Sansa tried to keep her nerves internal as she put on a regal face, watching as the soldiers and bannermen climbed from their horses. As the carriage door opened, her heart beat faster.

He was here. The third and hopefully final time Sansa Stark had greeted Tyrion Lannister in this courtyard. She stared as he came into full view, afraid to look into his eyes. Would he be angry? Would he be annoyed she hadn't given him more room to choose?

She took a chance, and found him staring back at her, with kind eyes and a smirk on his face. She felt a smile creep over her as he reached where she was standing.

"Your Grace." He said, voice as deep as ever.

"My Lord." She curtsied, giving him a slightly amused look before remembering herself. "Oh! May I introduce Lord Harrys Candon, and His Daughter Lady Catelyn, my loyal advisors."

"My Lord, My Lady." He nodded. "You are named for the late Lady Stark, I presume?"

She smiled. "Yes, My Lord. A keen observation. She befriended my mother some time before I was born, so the name seemed fitting."

There was a silence, in which Tyrion diverted his gaze back to Sansa, raising an eyebrow before clearing his throat. "Forgive me, my Lords, but I've had rather a long journey…"

The Queen jumped at the opportunity to escape this cold. "I'll show you inside, My Lord." She said quickly, before turning and gesturing to him to follow.

"Queen in the North." He said, rather animated. "The role suits you, especially amongst your people."

She gave a small smile, relaxing as she appreciated his familiarity. "Well, the Hand of the King is – haven't we already had this conversation?"

He laughed, opening the door as they went inside. "I was wondering when you'd notice." He turned to her, apparently already knowing the way to his room. "On a more serious note, we have much to discuss. And discussions warrant wine."

She laughed this time, informing him there was a decanter already in her chambers, as she foresaw his request this morning. When they arrived, Tyrion poured a glass for both of them and joined Sansa by the fire.

She drank some, having no idea where to begin with this conversation. Apparently he could tell, because he sighed.

"I read your letter." He said, looking rather impressed.

"And?"

"It was very convincing."

She took another sip. "Well it was all true. I probably would've written no matter if we…"

Tyrion smirked again. "If we were or were not currently engaged?"

"Well, yes. And your thoughts on that matter are?"

He put down his glass and she did the same. _Oh no. _Serious discussion was about to begin. Tyrion began. "I understand the reasons, Gods, I even support them. But I have only one question."

"What's that?"

"Do you want this?" Sansa was taken aback by the heartfelt tone of his question, and almost felt on the verge of crying.

She composed herself. She may have known Tyrion many years, but she didn't know him truly. They weren't as familiar as they had been acting since he arrived. "The North and my reign are only secure with heirs, which are obtained by the bond of marriage, and your house is…. _was_ respected in Westeros, and for my people I have to..."

He cut her off. "Sansa, stop. I'm not asking about all that. Ever since you left here for the first time, everything thing has been forced upon you, and if not, you've done it out of obligation. You have a choice now. I trust you and care for you but I also know what you've been through. Don't choose to do this if it's not what you want."

She blinked. Apparently she hadn't composed herself, because her cheeks were wet with tears. "Wow." She whispered. "No one's ever asked me something like that before." She looked him in the eye. "Thank you." Sansa thought about it. He asked her that. He cared enough to make sure she was alright, putting his own feelings aside for another's good.

That's a man she can trust.

That's a man she can marry.

"Yes." She stated, reaching out and taking his hand. "I want this. I want someone I can care about and trust and love, and who will do the same for me, and children I can watch grow up. And I believe that you're the right person for that."

He smiled, blinking back tears as well. That face reminded her of when they were in the crypt, his eyes and his smile the only motivation she needed to keep fighting. "I want this too." He said.

Sansa had to admit she was shocked. "You want to continue your family line? You hated your father!" She then realized she had spoken out of term. "Forgive me, My Lord, I should not have said that…."

"No, no, it's fine. You're right. I hated my father and I'm sorry that that's how things were." He squeezed her hand. "But my children will not hate me. I want to do something for this world that is good."

"Tyrion, you've done so much good, you must know that!" Sansa said abruptly.

He sighed. "What good, Sansa? Joining Daenerys? Fleeing the country? Killing my father?"

She took his other hand, leaning closer to him. "What did I say in my letter?"

He smirked, yet again. "Many things."

She ignored him. "You saved me. And I'm sure you saved many others. Don't ever forget that."

He smiled fondly at her, before realizing the sky outside had turned black. "Gods, it gets dark early here! I best get some rest, the Lords will want to negotiate tomorrow, now that we're on the same page."

She stood up, and, without really knowing what she was doing, leant down and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you, Tyrion." Even more to her surprise, he tightly hugged her back.

Walking to the door, he turned around suddenly. "Sansa." His deep voice echoed around the room but she stayed where she was, undoing her hair. "Hmm?"

"What you said in the letter, about me saving you?"

She looked at him now, captivated.

He took a deep breath.

"Well, you saved me too."

**a/n - please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

As it turned out, having a familiar face around the castle and at meals was a refreshing change for Sansa. The majority of the past year she had been surrounded by strangers. Supportive strangers, mind, who were slowly becoming friends, but strangers nonetheless. It's a different kind of support you get from someone you merely tell about your past and someone who knew you when the events unfolded.

Tyrion knew her before she was the poised and respected Queen in the North. For her, it was nice to have a conversation with someone who didn't need an explanation for everything that didn't add up. He was already aware of the details, the gruesome and happy alike, and he knew better than to bring them up.

She was still bound in her duties to in the North, but Sansa tried to spend as much time with Tyrion as was possible, remembering her promise to herself to not make the same mistakes as the last time. Despite their long and interesting conversations over horse-riding, walking, and even logging castle supplies, there was still an elephant in the room, so to speak.

The morning after he arrived, the Lords had struck up some early negotiations on living and introducing a co-monarchy, but within a half hour the conversation had gotten so complicated and confusing that Sansa insisted it be postponed. To when, she hadn't specified, and it hadn't been brought up since.

That was, until one afternoon when the snow seemed lighter and the sun made an appearance just as the Queen and future king were walking past the Weirwood. Sansa stopped and sat down on a nearby log, Tyrion standing in front of her so they met eye to eye.

She gave him a questioning look. "Are you going to bring it up or shall I?" She asked.

"My lady?" He smirked, something she noticed he did often.

"You know what I mean." She huffed, pulling his hand so he sat next to her. "The lords seem to have shrunk in their shells, and it's not as though you can just live here without purpose, people will talk."

"What people?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Well, don't you think the ever keen citizens of Kings' landing will eventually notice that their King is without his hand? Not to mention the prying eyes of Northerners will spot you here, as you're…. Well, easily recognised." She tried not to giggle.

He scoffed. "Alright. What is it you want to talk about then?"

Sansa leant back against the tree behind her and tried to pull her mind to one subject. These days, it was easy for her to feel overwhelmed by all the responsibility she had upon her. She never spoke on it, though, because she knew it was responsibility she took willingly, and the privilege she had. Even now, she had failed to answer Tyrion's question just thinking about being stressed. "Tyrion, I asked you here as soon as my court brought up your name because I knew in my heart it was the best thing for the North. It still is, what with all my disgruntled enemies lying in wait to sneak into the castle and slit my throat as I sleep."

Tyrion flinched as she said that, and she noticed his knuckles turning white. It wasn't a cheerful subject to discuss, but her northern advisors gave vivid descriptions of all the ways she could be assassinated without an heir when they were convincing her to wed Tyrion. Despite the love she got from those she knew, the unseen shadows that deemed a woman unworthy of her current role were ever present.

She looked at him again. "It's unlikely that it's going to ever happen, not with all our guards. But the wedding would secure my position here, not to mention heirs to succeed me." She noticed a smile on his lips when she talked about those topics. "The reality is, I'm a Stark. That got me in. But to stay, I have to talk things in my own grasp."

He fiddled with her hand, which he hadn't even realised he was holding. "And taking things in your grasp would be, what, getting married tomorrow?" He laughed, and she did too.

"No, but those who despise me have the advantage if we keep sitting on our hands. We need to organise the wedding, yes, and also get my family here, talk about children, work out whether you will keep your job…"

"Actually, I have been thinking about that. I took the role as your brother's hand because he asked me too. However, he consented to me riding north, so by default he consented to our marriage and the subsequent changes to my life." He took a breath. "But, for the loyalty I have to him and you, I've decided to work from here, and have someone be my physical representative in the capital. I sent the raven this morning."

Sansa was impressed with how much thought he seemed to have given it. "Thank you, Tyrion. Really. For a moment I was scared you would say you were going to make me do long distance, but I don't think either of us could manage that." She giggled, knowing the accidental suggestion she just made.

"So tell me, your Grace, how do you feel about the name Elwaan for our son?" He stifled a laugh.

Sansa simply took his face in her hands, smiling, and kissed him. She felt his stubble against her face and when she pulled away her cheeks were bright red.

To her surprise, he was also grinning and after standing up, offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. She looked at him. "My lord, Elwaan sounds perfect if our boy is to be the castle fool." He snorted. "But suppose we have a girl?"

He nodded. "I hope we have boys and girls. Lots of shouts to fill these silent castle halls." They began to walk back towards the stone wall to go inside.

"How do you think you'll be as a father?" She asked honestly. "Because personally I'm terrified."

"Sansa, I don't doubt you'll be the best mother the north has ever seen." He squeezed her hand. "But considering the fact my children will be taller than me by the time they're four, I'd say I'll be hard to be taken seriously."

She gaped her mouth open. "Oh rubbish! I think we'll work well together. We can teach them to swing a sword and ride and shoot and light fires. The boys and the girls. And if we have a girl first, she'll be queen. I won't have this younger sibling gets the throne because he's male carry on and that's final." She expected him to rebut that but he agreed.

"One thing's for sure. If you don't name at least most of them after your Stark ancestors, we'll have their ghosts hunt us down. What are some of their names again?"

Sansa laughed. "Why don't I take you down to the crypt and we can look at each and every one of their lovely stone graves."

So the couple went below to the winding and dim crypts of Winterfell, where they had first found that moment of tenderness so many months ago.

The Wall

Jon Snow's looming and broody posture could be seen from a mile away, which is why the steward met him halfway through the passage under the wall with the raven scroll.

"Waker, what is it?" He demanded, climbing from his horse.

"A message from Kings' Landing, My lord. King Bran sends A _royal summons._" The lean and nervous boy passed it to Jon. "It arrived several weeks ago, my lord, but you were not yet back."

Lord Snows' dark eyes scanned the letter. "Sansa…." He murmured. "Change of plan!" He yelled back to Tormund, who had been accompanying Jon back to the wall with a group of free folk in need of medical attention. "Take this lot to the maester and see they have everything they need! And look after them all for me!"

Jon could hear Tormund's' rough voice calling out, "Where are you going?" But he was already away on his horse, so he murmured his answer to himself.

"I'm going home."

Somewhere West of Westeros

"Captain!" The chubby ships' boy waddled towards her.

She turned, with her telescope still over her eye, finding a rather close up view of the boys face. Not a pleasing sight. "Neral, I've told you not to disturb me up here! What is it?"

"A letter, Captain sir, a bird brought it, a pigeon I think."

She sighed. "A raven, Neral. A raven." She unrolled it.

Midway through the letters' first sentence, he interrupted. "What does it say?" He peaked his head over the top of the paper.

"You know, Neral, if you learnt to read, you might figure out that people can't do it so quickly." She read on, her eyes widening as they made sense of the message. "Well I'll be God's damned." Not just any message, like the ones she had received before, just to check up on her. This was a royal summons.

"What?" Neral piped up again, slightly mispronouncing the T on that simple word.

"You've got no idea how lucky you are to have no siblings, Neral. Now run along, you've done what you came to me for." The boy scurried away, and Arya Stark turned out towards the horizon that she knew led her back to Westeros. Somewhere past that line of sea was the land that she had tried so hard to get away from, for so many years.

And now she would have to look it in the face. "Hard to Starboard!" She yelled at the sailor steering the wheel. "Let's take her home."

She kept staring at that horizon until the sky darkened.

"Your wish is my command, big sister."

**a/n - sorry i took so long on this, hope you like this chapter! hope you're cool with the story being taken away from winterfell for a tiny bit, wanted to start getting the rest of the starks involved! more exciting things coming soon, please review i love to see them x**


	7. Chapter 7

A long and cold fortnight after the ravens from Winterfell fell into the hands of her unsuspecting siblings, the Queen in the North finally received word.

Both letters of response awaited her when she woke up. Immediately she recognized the handwriting of her brother and sister, the same sophisticated style that she wrote in, although faltering since their escapades in recent years had caused them to exchange letter writing for sword swinging.

For some reason, the confirmation of Jon and Arya's arrival really solidified to Sansa that she was getting married. The date was set – there were 10 days until she would wed Tyrion and to some effect, restart the Kingdom of the North.

Whenever she thought about this event's occurrence, Sansa found herself less repulsed and devastated than she had expected to be. Instead these feelings replaced themselves with what could be mistaken for giddiness and excitement.

She pulled her thoughts from the upcoming nuptials and turned to the letters on her bedside table.

_Sansa, _

_I left the wall the moment I got your letter, impulsively, and reached Last Hearth before I became overcome with guilt. I found I could not abandon the free folk I had just returned from the North with, and am now returning to Castle Black to oversee their medical rehabilitation. _

_There are also some recruitment ventures around the dreadfort I must partake in. _

_This should take me several days, and then I shall re-depart to come home to Winterfell. I was surprised but glad to hear about yours and Tyrion's union._

_The war really is won when I received my sisters' wedding invitation, that much is sure. _

_As I have instructed, you will receive this letter the day before I arrive. I will send it with a scout so as not to misinform you of my whereabouts. _

_I shall see you very soon, sister._

_Jon Snow, King Beyond the wall and King of the Free Folk_

Her older brother never did have a way with words, but she got his message quite transparently, so that simple letter sufficed. She doubted Arya's would be any more sentimental.

Their lack of emotional displays made her smile to herself as she opened her sister's message.

_Sansa, _

_I had thought, as I said to Sandor Clegane a year ago, that I wouldn't come back to Winterfell. _

_However, it seems I am. _

_The ship has just turned around. It will be one week before my crew and I arrive to King's Landing. We will gather together and travel north with His Grace the King and his attendants. _

_I estimate our arrival in the several days before your wedding. _

_I hope to find you in some state of happiness, so this month's journey is not to waste. _

_Arya Stark, Conqueror of the West_

Sansa knew Arya added that title in there as a snide comment, but it wasn't untrue. After the wedding, her sister would take to the wind and find every piece of land that penetrates the ocean, and claim it for the Starks, and for Westeros, and for herself.

It's a truly honorable endeavor. Sansa knew their father would be proud of the equally brave and different paths his children had traveled.

And those paths were diverging now. Just for a brief time, but still a reunion and possibly a chance to escape the horrors of the last ten years, and go back to being bickering children throwing pie and practicing archery.

Over the past several weeks, it really had felt like those far and foreign days of Sansa's childhood. The North had been restored to whole prosperity, food in abundance and fires burning against the great feasts that were devoured every night.

Their gates had become a revolving door of visitors, traders and travelers and old friends bending the knee to the Queen as they passed through on their way North or South. The servants were spread thin providing for guests, but the work made them feel fulfilled and purposed and useful, and that had been a rare feeling these past years.

The wedding preparations had begun, and the tailor from Moat Cailin accommodated all of Sansa's specific requests about the dress. The ceremony was to be held outside, but not in the gods' wood like that faux and despicable marriage to the Bolton bastard.

It would be by the weirwood, where so many pivotal and emotionally defining moments had taken place for the starks. It's where many things ended – The Night King, Ned and Catelyn's life in the North, Jon's secrets, Theon's life. And Sansa knew that now, she needed to start something there.

What better thing than her marriage?

After putting the letters away in a drawer, Sansa got dresses and headed to her office, where she had breakfast every morning with Tyrion. Just a habit they got into.

She opened the door straight away. They didn't knock anymore; they didn't need to. They were comfortable.

"I heard from Jon and Arya." She told him as she made her way to sit by the fire.

He nodded. "Did you?" He tossed her an apple, which she caught nimbly. "What did the brood and the warrior have to say for themselves?"

"Well," She bit into the crunchy fruit, a luxury for these cold months. "Jon will be here tomorrow, keen to see you, as it sounds. And Arya will follow suit with Bran, Brienne, Sam, Bronn, Podrick, Davos and the rest of her crew in about a week."

"No complaints when the summons is given, as it would happen." He scoffed jokingly. "When do the other guests arrive."

She shrugged. "When I tell them too." She walked to her desk and took out invitation replies. "They are mostly Northern people; they can make it here easily. But I invited everyone else from the dragon pit summit. The Dornish boy is coming in two days, and Yara around the same time."

Tyrion groaned. "The Greyjoy? Really?"

She smiled, leaning down to kiss his cheek and tapping his shoulder. "Peace and harmonious co-existence. Even if she's…."

"Yara Greyjoy." He sighed, kissing her hand that was still on his shoulder. "You know, in War, we never needed to display false likeness to anyone. If they were disagreeable, a sword was run through them."

Sansa scoffed. "You shouldn't say such things."

The following day

The northern queen had become lost in wedding planning that her older brothers' arrival crept up on her after she stayed awake all through the night.

The wedding details were more of a distraction to her splitting headache and light head, and the candles melted as the hours passed.

Just as the sun was rising, gold melting through the windows and onto the stone walls, Sansa finally went to bed, ignoring the trumpet signalling an important arrival. Shortly after she fell asleep, there was a soft knock on her door and two quiet voices.

They shut the door again and she woke up several hours later, cursing herself for missing Jon's welcome. Sure that he was already somewhere in the castle, she left her room, still wearing yesterday's clothes, and made for the great hall.

Sansa was still exhausted, and her steps seemed heavy as she navigated the corridors.

She had almost reached it as she rounded a corner. A flash of black hair and a dark pelt blurred before her before she collided with the stone wall and collapsed to the ground.

The pool of red by her eyes glistened, showing her reflection and she let herself fade into the cool stone.

Jon Snow shook his unconscious sister, yelling for help and praying to the Gods to save her.

After everything, this could not be her end.

**a/n - so sorry this has taken 2 months! I didn't think there was a lot of interest in this story so I discontinued, but I was clearing out word docs and stumbled upon this. Felt compelled to smash out this chapter, give feedback if I should keep posting. **


	8. Chapter 8

_Five hours earlier_

Tyrion awoke to the sounds of the trumpet bouncing around the walls of the great hall. As he pried his eyes open, he noticed the appearance of everything on its side. He soon realised he himself was horizontal, his neck bent over the table and hand still loosely holding what would have been his last cup of wine before he backed into sleep.

He had never been one to feel wine's strong effects, even the morning after a successful night of frivolous drinking. Because of this, he had no difficulty hopping off his chair and heading straight to the courtyard, where he and the Queen in the North would receive her brother – Lord Jon Snow.

It was sparrows' early, meaning movement in the castle had barely begun. Only the lowest of servants were up, lighting fires and preparing meals for their superiors to enjoy once they arose from their feather beds.

Rather ironic, Tyrion thought as he navigated the halls, that the more work you put in, the less respect you receive.

He reached the courtyard with minimal trouble – his directional compass in regards to Sansa's home was improving. As said and as Jon would prefer it, there was no fanfare to acknowledge Lord Snows' arrival – he didn't care for the fuss.

Instead, Tyrion alone walked toward the slumped posture atop the exhausted house walking through the gates.

He could not see Sansa anywhere, which concerned him immediately. She was never one for tardiness, especially not for her dear brother who she had not seen in a year.

"Tyrion." A husky voice came from above him, and he turned to see the familiar face of Jon snow. He wasn't smiling, per se, but he did look significantly less ailed then when they had last met. "Jon Snow." He shook his head in disbelief. "Who would have thought we would be here?"

Jon swung himself down, shaking Tyrion's hand. "I'm glad to see you're still yourself." He smiled. "Where's Sansa?"

Tyrion remembered his worries from before Jon had greeted him, and paled. "I haven't seen her. She assured me she would be here when you arrived…"

Jon nodded, processing. "Well, I wish to see her as soon as possible. We'll see what the guards by her chambers say."

Lord Snow knew the way far better than Tyrion, and they reached the Queens' room easily. Suddenly Tyrion recalled that Sansa had mentioned her headache last night. That could well have worsened since.

"Where is the Queen?" Jon asked the man guarding her door.

He stammered. "Lord Snow. She retired late last night and has not emerged since. But the candles were burning quite late, they only went out a short while ago."

Tyrion reached for the door handle, and opened it quietly. Sansa lay on her bed, cheeks flushed and eye sockets dark with exhaustion. She was sleeping soundly, and his eyes moved to the pile of papers on her desk.

He knew she had stayed awake through the night, but he only hoped it would not make her ill.

He would not dream of waking her, and Jon agreed, smiling at her sleeping form. "We'll leave her." Tyrion nodded. "She needs the rest."

So the Lord Lannister took the Bastard of Winterfell to the great hall, to reunite with his northern folk and enjoy a hearty meal. They spent several hours indulging in wine and sharing stories of their year apart, and it was hard to imagine that they had all fought dead men not so long ago.

When it seemed he had had his fill of decent, non-Castle Black food, Jon stood. "I'm going to check on Sansa." He told Tyrion, who nodded and prepared to leave himself.

"If she's awake, tell her I wish to speak with her after you have." He said. "I'll be in the library."

Jon trod the familiar path to the Lords' chambers, now Sansa's, and soon to be Sansa and Tyrion's'. He had barely got away from the noise of the hall when a tall red-headed figure swerved the corner.

Snow had barely opened his mouth to address his sister when the sickening crack sounded, and her body fell limply to the ground.

"Sansa!" He shouted, breaking to his knees and holding her. "Help!" He tried to hold back the river of blood pouring from her head as he swooped her into his arms and began running toward the infirmary. "Get the Maester!" He bellowed. "Tyrion! Tyrion where are you!" Jon's voice could be heard even from where Tyrion was just entering the library.

Instantly, he dropped the book he was holding, barely hearing it drop on the ground as he run toward the direction of the shouts. He caught him just as he was laying someone down on a bed in the infirmary. Who….?

He paled.

No. He saw her orange hair, darkened by the blood that soaked it. The Queen. His Queen, Sansa. His Sansa.

His feet almost tripped him as he made towards them. "What happened?" He asked desperately.

"I don't know, she rounded a corner so hard that she made into the wall, her head…. cracked…" Jon said in a daze.

The Maester tore cloth, applying pressure to the wound as servants wiped at the blood and sweat.

Tyrion took her hand in both of his, and kissed it desperately. Her eyes stayed shut, the movement of her chest the only indication that she was indeed still alive.

That could change at any moment.

After her head was bandaged and all the blood cleaned away, the midday turned into afternoon, which morphed into a black, black night.

Tyrion and Jon sat by Sansa's bed all the while, without food nor water, just fixating their eyes on her sedentary form, as though that would make her regain consciousness.

Perhaps it did. It must have been after midnight when, as suddenly as she had left it, Sansa re-joined the living world, with a sharp intake of breath and her eyes jolting open.

Tyrion sat back in his chair, laughing an utterly relieved exhale. "Thank Gods." He smiled, and she smiled back with what strength she could muster.

"What happened?" She had only seen Tyrion, and Jon coughed from the other side of the bed. "Jon!" Sansa exclaimed, sitting up and quickly being lain back down by her brother. "We'll talk later." He said softly, leaving the room.

"What were you thinking, Sansa?" Tyrion roused gently. "You can't be the queen 24 hours a day. Even royals need sleep, because if they don't get it, they get out of bed and slam into walls."

"Honestly, I…. don't remember any of that." She sighed, shutting her eyes.

He shook his head. "Well I do, and it scared the life out of me. Don't do that to me, Sansa. I could not ever lose you."

She opened an eye, intrigued at the gates that comment opened. "And why is that?"

He gave her a knowing look, but continued in sole sincerity.

"Because I, Tyrion Lannister, am in love with you."

**a/n - due to some responses I got, I will be continuing this story, with *hopefully* weekly updates. I wanted to incorporate some different perspectives/flashback style for this, hope it is clear to understand. Review your thoughts!**


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